


The Mistakes of the Unspoken

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [78]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Feels, Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Holmes Brothers, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Protective Mycroft, Secret Relationship, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Mistakes were made and Mycroft is waiting when Sherlock comes by on the night of John's wedding.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [78]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1090899
Comments: 19
Kudos: 143





	The Mistakes of the Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Mistake

Mycroft looked up from his laptop at the soft sound. It was just loud enough to garner his attention, yet soft enough he was not quite sure he heard anything at all. He sat very still and listened. It took a moment, but he heard it again.

“Brother Mine…” he whispered to himself with a small sad shake of his head.

He was not surprised that his baby brother had yet again magically bypassed all of the expensive security and made his way into the home undetected. In fact, he had expected his brother sooner.

›› You are correct he finally made it here. –MH

›› Is he okay? – GL

›› I have not seen him yet, I expect not, but he will be eventually. I am going to need some time with him. – MH

›› Understood. – GL

He knew it would have been a mistake to stay in bed and was glad he had not. That certainly would have been a disaster had Sherlock come to the bedroom to wake him out of a sleep. He knew Sherlock had deduced he is in his office and not upstairs. Still, it had been a mistake for him to actually start working. Murphy’s Law: the moment he seriously got into it, Sherlock appeared.

Mycroft, put his computers to sleep. He knew no more work was getting done that night. He picked up the two glasses and the bottle of good scotch he had at the ready for this visit and made his way to the living room.

Sherlock had found the remote and turned on the fireplace. The bright flames flicked around the very convincing faux logs. It was the only illumination in the room other than a lamp on a side table Sherlock had turned on to find the remote. He had taken off his Belstaff and suit jacket and draped them over the arm of a side chair. He was still dressed in his finery, only the shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and the small end of his tie hung out of a trouser pocket. Silently, Sherlock unbuttoned and rolled up one shirt sleeve and then the other. They both knew that Mycroft would not need to see his track-free arms to know, or that there are a myriad of other places and ways Sherlock could have indulged had he so wanted, but Mycroft appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He knew his brother was clean.

Sherlock’s beautiful eyes, dilated in the dark room, looked haunted as they stared into the flames. He clearly had done some drinking earlier, which was unusual of itself for Sherlock was not one for hard liquor or to get drunk, but Mycroft understood why he was now. Mycroft was proud of Sherlock and mentally gave a chagrined sigh and a nod of thanks to John Watson. Yes, the newly married doctor was the reason why Sherlock was under the influence of alcohol in the first place. Yet Mycroft also knew that it was John’s influence that Sherlock had not taken a 7% solution or more. Instead he came to Mycroft's townhouse, to the only person he knew who would understand, for solace.

“You saw them off at Heathrow.”

“They did not see me.”

“I am sure they did not. That is not what I said and you know it.”

He knew Sherlock would have gone to watch them, no watch _him_ depart with her. The two newlyweds joyous and happy leaving Sherlock alone, and unprotected, from the onslaught of emotions that gripped him now.

Hands in his trouser pockets Sherlock stared into the fire. “I can’t even hate her, you know? I wanted to. I tried to. But she is good to him…good for him. I like her.”

Mycroft said nothing knowing exactly of whom Sherlock spoke; his opinion was not wanted nor needed here.

And with that admission it was almost as if someone had let the air out of a balloon as his brother gracelessly dropped to the floor. His forearms and hands dangled over bent knees as he stared into the flames some more. Mycroft gracefully lowered himself to the floor and sat beside to his brother in front of the fire.

After a pronounced silence Sherlock reached out a hand without looking. Mycroft gave a healthy pour into the crystal highball and passed it to him.

Sherlock took a deep swallow of his drink, “You have told me repeatedly that caring is not an advantage. You were right. You’re always right…”

Mycroft mentally winced at the words he had said to his brother multiple times; words that he still meant, but now was beginning to understand for himself why one would risk that that disadvantage. He was not wrong, but no, he was not exactly right. Knowing what was coming he placed the other glass and the decanter on the other side of him and waited for it.

“ _FUCK YOU_ for being right, Mycroft!”

The crystal in Sherlock’s hand went airborne and shattered into the fire grate. It caused a flare up as the liquor ignited.

Mycroft did not think about it, he immediately pulled his brother into his arms shielding Sherlock’s face.

Caught in Mycroft’s tight hold, Sherlock crumpled even as he gripped Mycroft’s arms tightly in his pain. 

“John’s the one, who is supposed to be the one, who understands people and love. How does he not know?” tears streamed from Sherlock’s crystalline eyes.

Mycroft slowly stood and brought Sherlock with him to the sofa to sit.

Mycroft does not remind Sherlock that he had never said the words to Watson. Mycroft had noticed the little tells in which Sherlock had shown his burgeoning feelings for John Watson. Watson eventually got to know Sherlock well, but not well enough to decipher all the micro tells. Watson is a smart man, but like Sherlock some things needed to be spelled out clearly. By the time John understood and was willing to admit it, and perhaps act on it, it was too late Sherlock was gone.

Mycroft does not tell Sherlock that it had been a mistake to not tell John before he jumped from St. Bart’s roof.

It was certainly a mistake to not tell John Sherlock was alive. Mycroft himself regretted not breaking his own vow to Sherlock and telling the unnecessarily grieving man. He had secretly hoped that Sherlock’s two years away would have weakened that love, but his brother had returned from Serbia with his passion for the man very much intact.

Mycroft knew it was a mistake to let Sherlock be blindsided at The Landmark. But his brother needed to see the ramifications of what not telling John had done.

“Why HER?!” the words are cried harshly against his shoulder.

Mycroft had fully expected John to hit Sherlock. In fact, Mycroft thought Sherlock got off easy all things considered. Mary Morstan was exactly what John Watson had needed then, but no longer once Sherlock had returned. Mycroft had not expected Mary to advocate for Sherlock, it certainly was in her best interest to not encourage the friendship. Yet she had. He realized even she understood that if the two men cannot have each other, they still needed each other, more than Sherlock, John or she herself was willing to admit.

Still, Mycroft does not tell Sherlock that it had been a mistake to let Watson go through with the engagement without telling him, let alone the marriage.

“Love is not supposed to hurt! It hurts so much! _So much_!!”

The words are raw and pain filled. It tears at Mycroft to hear them and be so utterly helpless in the depth of his baby brother’s heartache.

“Why does it HURT, My?”

Mycroft nearly gasped aloud at the diminutive. Sherlock had not called him by that name since the last time he had overdosed and nearly died several years ago. It hurts him to hear it now.

Mycroft then begins to tell Sherlock things. A lot of things. But he does not tell the sobbing man in his arms that he knows Watson had in fact loved him just as deeply and had hurt just as deeply in his grief. Mycroft most certainly does not tell Sherlock that he is sure that John still loves him deeply. The two men were so terrified of losing their friendship and having nothing, they did not understand that if either had spoken up they could have had it all.

Sherlock slowly cried himself out and had fallen asleep. Still Mycroft held him in his arms and gently rocked him. It was so reminiscent of when they were children. When Mycroft would hold the tearful cherubic Sherlock, who did not understand why the children his age were so stupid, yet his older classmates who he matched with intellectually were so cruel. Unlike Mycroft, Sherlock actually cared. He had always cared. It was why Mycroft had started telling him caring was a disadvantage. That he was better off alone, it was what protected him. 

Mycroft now knew that was a mistake as he placed a finger to his lips at the man who stood in the doorway.

Mycroft’s people had informed him when Sherlock arrived at Baker Street. He then had invited Greg to come to the townhouse after the wedding reception. Greg had questioned it, it was a possible Danger Night and had thought that Sherlock might still come over. It was late, Mycroft had thought Sherlock was in for the night and they would be fine. Neither had expected Sherlock to leave the flat in the middle of the night, until Mycroft’s people had pinged him when Sherlock left Baker Street and that he looked _disturbed_. Mycroft left Greg in the bed and had gone to his home office and waited.

Greg, now dressed in jeans, a tee under a button down and trainers walked over silently and ran a compassionate hand through the soft curls of the sleeping consulting detective before he leaned down for a quick kiss from Mycroft. His clothes from the wedding were in a suit bag now slung over his shoulder as he silently left. There will be no trace of him having been there save for Mycroft’s memories of him in the bed.

He and Greg have been intimate for a couple of months. Having watched how Sherlock and John needlessly suffered, Mycroft refused to go that route once he finally admitted to himself that he had feelings for the detective inspector. Mycroft thanked the universe to learn those feelings were equally reciprocated when Gregory asked to meet non-professionally one enchanted evening a few months ago. Sherlock, busy with the Work and organizing John’s wedding, had not had time to notice. Now that the distraction of the wedding was over, it was only a matter of time before his brother deduced it. Mycroft is well aware that his relationship with Gregory will hurt Sherlock a little to see his happiness when he himself was so miserable, but Mycroft also knows his brother will be happy for him in the long run. He and Greg had agreed that they would not add to the count of mistakes by denying it once Sherlock does deduce it, but they will cross that bridge when they get to it. In the interim…

Mycroft knows his brother. In the light of morning Sherlock will mentally duct tape the shattered pieces of his heart together and will likely slip out the same way he had slipped into the townhouse. It is unlikely this night will ever be spoken of between them in the future.

Right now Mycroft kissed the forehead of his baby brother when a sleep filled whimper escaped him and gently rocked Sherlock until the devastated soul fell back under Morpheus’ spell again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the companion piece to [ _It Is His Secret_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135889).


End file.
